


with urgency, but not with haste

by flirtygaybrit



Category: Actor RPF, DC Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, and a completely necessary superman reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6407098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtygaybrit/pseuds/flirtygaybrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'm going to regret this,” Henry says out loud to nobody in particular, and Ben answers with a low laugh, a chuckle next to his ear that sounds less like reassurance and more like a wordless affirmation of the inevitable.</p><p>“Well, if you do, you have nobody but yourself to blame,” Ben points out with a playful wink, which is entirely untrue because the only person to blame for suggesting and actually convincing him to go through with gentle, safe-for-work, non-intrusive and easy-for-beginners bondage is, of course, Ben himself. Henry hasn't had any part in planning this, and if anybody suggests otherwise, he’ll deny it completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with urgency, but not with haste

“I'm going to regret this,” Henry says out loud to nobody in particular, and Ben answers with a low laugh, a chuckle next to his ear that sounds less like reassurance and more like a wordless affirmation of the inevitable. It does absolutely nothing to make Henry believe that he’s going to slip out of this one and escape this adventure unscathed. 

Ben pulls at each of Henry’s wrists, an experimental tug to test the solidity of his knots. Henry is equal parts impressed and alarmed to find that he doesn't move anywhere at all, and when Ben sits back to admire his handiwork he can tell that Ben is just as pleased with himself as he deserves to be. Tying bows and shoelaces is one thing, but this is another skill altogether.

“Well, if you do, you have nobody but yourself to blame,” Ben points out with a playful wink, which is entirely untrue because the only person to blame for suggesting and actually convincing him to go through with gentle, safe-for-work, non-intrusive and easy-for-beginners bondage is, of course, Ben himself. Henry hasn't had any part in planning this, and if anybody suggests otherwise, he’ll deny it completely. 

That, or he’ll confess to it with a straight face in front of an interviewer and a cameraman, because it’s not like anybody takes him seriously anyway. 

Suddenly, Henry lunges forward. He puts every bit of strength he has into pulling at his restraints, straining with every muscle in his arms and chest, teeth gritted and bared in an expression that he hopes comes across with all the bloodthirstiness of a feral animal. He’s on full display here, torso bare and the rest of him only covered by an old pair of jogging pants, and he feels vulnerable and exposed even though there’s only one pair of eyes on him. Ben, on the other hand, has been fully unclothed for almost the entire afternoon, and hasn't complained once about it. Americans.

If only the media could see them like this, Henry thinks: him, semi-nude and testing homemade restraints that seem like they would hold up perfectly well in a hurricane, and Ben, fully nude and… well, that one, everybody’s already seen.

Despite his extraordinary efforts he ends up no closer to Ben than before, the ties — neckties, Ben’s own, no less — holding his wrists fast against the creaking wooden headboard with just enough slack that the blood rushes back into his hands when he relaxes and unclenches them. He sags back against the pillows, breathing hard from the exertion while Ben looks at him with something akin to wonder. 

“Careful, don't pull too hard,” Ben says, then with no small amount of admiration, “Shit, that is… that is solid. I know what headboard I'm buying next month.”

“You should ask the staff where they found it,” Henry agrees. He tugs again, first one arm and then another, then both in an ineffective attempt at a chest press. In all honesty, he'd expected more give than this, and it’s a little jarring being completely unable to cross his arms as a defensive shield over his chest. He has to give it to Ben for his knot-tying skills, though he desperately hopes his knot-untying skills are just as sharp. “‘Superman-proof furniture, the new bedroom line from Ikea’. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Yes it does,” Ben agrees slowly, and Henry notices with some satisfaction of his own that Ben's eyes are no longer just on his fine own handiwork, but following the taut lines of muscle in his arms and roving over his pectorals. Henry, never one to pass up an opportunity to show off when he has such a dedicated audience, tugs at his restraints again, only much more slowly this time, an inexcusably vain flex of his arms and chest designed to land a direct hit to Ben’s libido.

Ben wets his lips, eyes hooded and dark, and kneels forward again, one hand curling around the headboard and two fingers pressing beneath Henry’s chin to tilt his head up. He already knows that he’s won Ben over, and in the still moment that follows, with Ben’s face so dangerously close to his and Ben’s breath ghosting over his lips, he can't help but meet his gaze and grin.

He arches up when Ben kisses him, surging with the parts of his body that he can still move to create as much contact between them as possible; it’s not all skin-to-skin, the frustrating barrier of material keeping him from rubbing his cock against Ben’s (which, impressively enough, Henry doesn't think has flagged at all since he’d had three fingers in Ben and foolishly agreed to let himself be tied up), but it’s almost enough to feel the solid weight of Ben’s torso bearing down against him. 

Ben kisses him like he’s claiming him, curling a hand around the back of his neck and licking into Henry’s mouth, seemingly oblivious to the way Henry’s squirming against him until Henry finally manages to get one leg hooked around his hips; then Henry rocks against him, as steadily and insistently as if they were fucking already, and Ben groans into his mouth, a gritty sound that vibrates in Henry’s ears and makes his toes curl. He answers with a low whine, hands curled into fists and arms straining already because he wants nothing more than to run his hands down Ben’s back and pull Ben’s hips down until he’s sinking onto his cock, and Ben just licks it out of his mouth.

He can still hear the echo of Ben’s voice, _you'll want it more when you can't have it, want it so much you'll beg for it_ , and he thinks that maybe this time he just might prove Ben right.

“Please,” Henry gasps when Ben’s other hand starts to make its way over his body, clever fingers with blunt nails that rake over his chest like Henry is something that should be torn open and eaten. “Ben, fuck, please let me, I need —”

“Need what,” Ben asks, low and authoritative. He tugs at Henry’s hair, pulling back to expose his throat and his hammering pulse, and Henry shudders, hips still rocking up against Ben’s body like it might somehow be enough to satisfy him, helplessly needy as Ben’s stubble scrapes over the still-tender flesh of his throat. “Tell me what.”

It’s difficult to tell whether it’s the shift in Ben’s voice or the vulnerability of the position that he’s just created, but Henry can't think of a time when he’s ever felt so compelled to tell Ben just what he wants. He’s nearly breathless from it, aching from the thought of what Ben could do to him in a position like this. He could do anything, but they haven't agreed on unpredictability, and it’s almost more arousing to know that he can trust Ben with this. 

“I need you, please, I want to fuck you,” Henry whispers. He feels frantic now that the initial nerves have started to dissipate and he’s sure it comes through loud and clear in his voice, but he can't help but think that anything above a whisper would seem inappropriate. He's not trying to appeal to a crowd… just to the man who’s tied him up. 

Ben mouths at his throat, tongue swirling hot and wet over the jackhammer of his pulse, and Henry moans when he sucks at it, jerking his hips upward with a whine. His rhythm had been interrupted when Ben had pulled back his head but now he redoubles his efforts, grinding up in the hopes that his cock will catch against Ben’s and allow him some sort of relief. It hasn't exactly been working, but he’s a hopeful man, and he knows that perseverance tends to pay off in the end.

Then Ben pulls away, breathless and grinning, the black of his pupils swallowing up the warm brown that Henry’s used to seeing. He looks every bit a hungry predator, a wolf with silver streaks and a bloody smile, and Henry flushes beneath his gaze, realizing at last that not only did he miss his mark completely in assuming that he’d won the battle, but that he himself has already lost the war. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Henry says, kicking at him until Ben sits back laughing. Normally he might be more indignant about being played so easily, but Henry’s man enough to admit when he’s lost, and he thinks he may just be too aroused to care at this point.

“You gotta admit, I almost had you there,” Ben replies, immeasurably smug. He tries to lean forward and Henry places a bare foot firmly on his chest to hold him back, but at this point he wants Ben closer more badly than he wants to keep him away, so he settles for letting Ben crawl forward between his legs and sighs when Ben’s hands slide slowly down over his hips. 

“Almost,” Henry admits. “If you’d kept going, I really would have begged for it.” 

He lifts his hips when Ben’s fingers reach the waistband of his pants and lets Ben tug them down carefully. Ben makes an amused noise. “Oh, I think that classifies as begging.”

“Does not,” Henry argues, determined to protect the last remaining shreds of dignity he possesses. He shivers as Ben pulls his legs free despite the warmth in the room and the heat of Ben’s fingers, and Ben just hums at him and runs appreciative hands over his thighs once he’s fully undressed. 

If he’d felt vulnerable and self-conscious with half his body covered, well, this is another story completely.

Ben leans down and presses his lips against Henry’s stomach, palms broad and warm and unmoving on top of his thighs. “You’re doing great, you know. You feel a little bit better about it? Is it good?”

Henry shifts, flexing his fingers because he’s only mildly concerned about losing circulation in his hands, and nods after a moment of thought. “It’s not bad,” he says slowly, and Ben glances up at him, eyes full of curiosity and no doubt searching for signs of discomfort, until Henry adds with a small, playful quirk of a brow, “but I still haven't fucked you yet.”

Ben seems to consider that, and after a brief moment he smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners, and dips his head down again to mouth at Henry’s hip. 

By the time Ben’s mouth closes around his cock, Henry’s sure that his wrists are going to be chafed bloody before they've even made it to the negotiated event. He lets his head fall back with a thud, tugging uselessly against the ties because he can't seem to remember that he has to keep his hands off this time. He wants to run his fingers through Ben’s hair and massage the base of his skull, and it’s much harder than anticipated to relax and let Ben guide him through it. He has no idea how he’s going to survive the actual sex if he can barely survive this, and he’s hardly able to hang on at all once Ben starts to swallow around him; he moans and arches his hips and tries to steady himself, groaning out a few choice curses once he sees Ben’s own arm working beneath him.

He’s embarrassingly close to incoherent begging again before long, and nearly bites into his own arm to keep from admitting that he thinks he’s going to die here in this hotel bed with his arms strapped down. Luckily, Ben appears to sense impending doom and draws back, seemingly satisfied with Henry’s laboured breathing and glazed eyes.

“You look like you're about to die,” Ben tells him fondly.

All Henry can do is try to even his breathing, and when Ben leans up and kisses him he laughs sheepishly and mumbles, “You have no idea.”

“Mm, I think I understand,” Ben says. He nudges his nose against Henry’s before kissing him again, slow and tender this time, fingers stroking over Henry’s jaw and through his hair. The effect is soothing after the torture he’s just been put through, and Henry hums into the kiss, savouring the change of pace while he can. He knows exactly what Ben’s going to do, but with the way he’s reacted to the rest of it, Henry has no idea just how he’s going to be able to handle what comes next. 

At last Ben moves away, the sudden loss of heat sobering, and Henry has to blink his eyes open and take a moment to refocus before he figures out what Ben’s doing. He's made a grab for the lube, of course, which Henry had warned he’d need to do if he’d spent too much time on foreplay (one of the several cons on his anti-bondage list, though there hadn't been enough to outweigh the pros by a long shot); as Henry watches, Ben coats his fingers and sinks them into himself, first two, then three at a time.

Then Ben catches his eye, and Henry’s heart skips a beat.

“Absolutely not,” Henry says, the same time as Ben says, “Maybe next time?”

They pause, each waiting for the other to continue, and Ben repeats more firmly, “Next time. Making you watch now would be —”

“Cruel and unusual punishment,” Henry finishes. He's thankful that Ben isn't going to put on a show for him now, but this just means that he’ll have to put extra effort into ensuring that Ben never remembers his promise to tie Henry up and show off in the future. It's hard enough not being able to touch when Ben’s been so close. He'll never make it if he has to be deprived of touch completely. 

“We both know I'm not,” Ben says, then does something with his fingers that makes him visibly shiver and makes Henry’s entire body flush with anticipation. 

On a whim, Henry swallows and says, “I love watching you do that.” 

Ben pauses, seemingly caught off guard, and after a moment he draws his fingers back out, wipes them carelessly on the pants that are still dangling off the side of the bed, and reaches for a condom. 

“You can help next time,” he promises, giving Henry’s thigh a soothing rub. “Now, one more time. Sure you're okay?”

Henry glances at his wrists and then back at Ben with raised eyebrows. He’s a bit more excited than expected, and he may spontaneously combust if Ben tries that trick with the voice again, but otherwise he’s completely fine. “I'm not going anywhere,” he says, giving another tug to prove his point. “You should hurry up while I can still feel my hands.” 

“Always in a rush,” Ben says to himself, and pointedly takes a torturously long time to roll the condom onto Henry. Henry has survived worse, all things considered, but he groans and makes a mental note to return the favour next time all the same. 

By the time Ben finally eases down onto him Henry has almost managed to convince himself that he’ll be able to make it through this, but once Ben settles his weight on top of his hips he realizes quite suddenly that no, he most certainly isn't going to make it through this. Ben, on the other hand, looks as peaceful as can be, eyes closed and breathing steady as he shifts his hips and waits for the stretch to become comfortable. Henry can feel every little twitch and clench, and he's not sure exactly whose pulse he’s feeling down there, but it’s driving him wild already, and Ben hasn't even begun to move.

“Ben,” Henry murmurs. His throat is dry but the rest of him is damp with sweat and his hands are curled into fists, nails digging into his palms to distract him from the fact that they'd normally be wrapped around Ben’s hips and cock. Ben opens his eyes and reaches out, pressing his palm against the side of Henry’s cheek, and Henry leans into it, never once taking his eyes off of Ben’s face. He doesn't think he could if he tried.

“You're okay,” Ben says gently, and Henry’s fairly sure that he’s not; he's all but trembling with the weight of Ben pinning him down and the overwhelming heat of Ben around him and the complete and total inability to take control without the use of his hands, and he wants nothing more than to put everything on hold to let Ben steady him and murmur praise into his ear.

Henry nuzzles against Ben’s palm and swallows again. He whispers, “You feel amazing,” and Ben smiles at him, disarmingly sweet as he starts to move. 

It’s far from their first rodeo, so Henry blames the relative kinkiness of the situation for his inability to control himself the way he normally can. It might be the fact that he can only watch Ben, too, that drives him so wild, and he’s pretty sure Ben isn't going easy on him. He rides Henry like he was made for it, muscle flexing and shifting beneath his skin as he rolls his hips down to meet Henry’s thrusts. He braces both arms on either side of Henry’s head and leans in, kissing him again with the same hunger as before and breaking only to breathe and to moan against Henry’s shoulder.

“Fuck, yeah, right there,” he groans, grinding his hips down hard, and Henry answers with a hiss as Ben clenches around him. He's never had somebody take control like this and he finds himself pulling more and more against his restraints, almost shaking with the effort of trying to snap the headboard in half so that he can get his hands on Ben properly; but the headboard never breaks, and Ben fucks himself on Henry’s cock so expertly that Henry probably doesn't need to thrust at all. He does anyway, trying to drive himself as deep into Ben as possible when Ben sinks down onto him, and Ben bites into his shoulder, grunting with the effort of riding Henry into an early grave.

At some point Ben starts jerking himself off again, which Henry only notices because one of the hands that had been braced on his chest disappears suddenly, and he thinks that of all the things he's seen in the world, it’s this — Ben’s head thrown back, his hand on his cock, sweat rolling down his flushed torso — that’s the most beautiful sight of all. 

Around the time the headboard starts slamming against the wall, Henry starts to feel himself slipping; his arms are taut and shaking and he can't stop watching the way Ben’s cock keeps disappearing inside his fist, the way his own cock keeps disappearing inside Ben. It's too much, the heat coiled in his belly drawn tight like a white-hot spring, his throat too dry and his feet slipping against the bed.

“Ben,” Henry gasps, and Ben grins down at him, bright-eyed and breathless, clenching around him.

“Almost there?”

“Fuck,” Henry groans back; he's surprised by the rawness of his own voice, but he can't help but notice with some small amount of satisfaction that Ben sounds just as wrecked as he does. “Fuck, I'm almost…”

“I know, just a little longer, stay with me,” Ben urges, and Henry groans, hips stuttering up as the heat of Ben’s body contracts around him, but somehow he holds on, shaking on the edge until Ben leans down and groans hoarsely into his mouth, nails digging into his chest and body clamping down hard around him.

Henry snaps like a drawn bow, jerking his hips up as he empties himself with a ragged noise, hardly even aware of the hot lines Ben paints over his stomach and chest as he follows suit.

He pants against Ben’s ear for an indeterminate amount of time after, hazy and uncoordinated and too out of it to note anything other than the occasional twitch in his slowly loosening limbs and the weight of Ben slumped on top of him. He can feel Ben trying to regulate his own breathing, and every so often Ben presses a lazy kiss to the crook of his neck, which he leans into gratefully.

For a while, all is quiet, and Henry doesn't think he's ever felt more at peace.

Eventually Ben rights himself, pushing himself back up slowly enough that Henry would almost think he’d been the one with his arms restrained, and Henry's almost surprised to remember that he hasn't pulled out yet — or, at least, Ben hasn't pulled off yet. The thought makes him smile, and he directs it lazily up at Ben, an obvious expression of satisfaction that Ben returns with a lazy hum. He looks just as fucked-out as Henry feels, and he groans when he finally lifts himself off of Henry's hips and collapses on the bed.

Henry wets his lips and watches him for a moment; he's starting to return to himself at last, and that means that he can think of nearly a half-dozen sharp comments. Unfortunately, his body still hasn't quite caught up, and all he ends up saying is: “You’re so fucking old.”

“Fuck you,” Ben replies without pause. His voice is still hoarse so it lessens the blow, but he crawls off the bed more slowly than before, and Henry can't help but laugh at him.

“Come on. You leaving me?”

“I thought it’d be a nice surprise for the hotel staff,” Ben says. Henry cranes his neck, trying to see just what Ben’s digging around in his suitcase for, and the headboard creaks ominously as he twists to watch. He promptly relaxes back against the pillows and focuses instead on staying very still, and after a couple of seconds of rummaging around Ben returns with scissors, of all things. 

“Uh,” Henry says.

Ben nods toward the condom still covering his cock, which Henry has certainly not forgotten about during all the excitement. “Time to get that off,” he says, deadpan, and leans in and slips the scissors carefully between the tie and Henry's skin.

Henry tries to pull his arm in immediately once he’s free but Ben grabs his forearm and lifts it up, his strength easily greater than Henry's now that Henry has exhausted himself. He inspects the redness of Henry’s wrist for a moment, running his thumb over it so lightly that it’s little more than a tickle, and lowers Henry's arm carefully for him, making his way to the other side of the bed once he’s satisfied.

“You don't know how to unknot your ties?” Henry teases, but he pauses when Ben starts to laugh. “What, is it that hard to do?”

“Actually...” Ben trails off, snipping the second tie with careful precision. After a brief pause and another chuckle, he continues, “You know, it really is. Now,” he says, bringing Henry’s arm down slowly to his side, mindful of the marks left by the fabric, “just be careful with your arms. You're not chafed, but I think you pulled a little hard. And I’d take it easy in that bed tonight, if I were you.”

It sounds as if he’d planned to say something else, but Henry had tested the strength of those knots thoroughly, and he’s fairly sure that no man alive could undo them. He rubs at his wrists for a moment, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders, then goes about tying off the condom and tossing it in the trash before crawling back onto the bed. He rolls his shoulders, settles onto his stomach, and calls after Ben, who has wandered into the bathroom, “I’m not that sore, you know. I really think the wall took most of the damage.”

“Check again, Clark,” Ben calls back over running water, “you cracked the fucking headboard.”

For a moment, Henry’s so stunned that all he can do is blink in the direction of the bathroom. Then, slowly, he pushes himself up and inspects the dark grain of the wood, and sure enough, he can see it: a thin crack in the wood around the opposite side of the spot his wrist had been tied to. 

Henry laughs. He laughs so hard that he completely misses the damp cloth Ben tosses at him, and at last he manages to stop long enough to wipe himself off, though he finds himself still chuckling as Ben shoves the lube onto the floor and crawls into bed next to him.

“Mm, that was great,” Ben says, heaving a sigh of satisfaction as he settles at last. Henry rolls onto his side, slow and mindful of his shoulders, and curls against him, biting lightly at his collarbone before his composure slips and he snorts again. He feels bad for the poor confused hotel employee who will inevitably discover this one. 

Ben presses a kiss to the top of his head. “So I take it you're open to trying this again?”

“If you think you can handle it,” Henry replies. He’s exhausted now and not in any mood to do much more than lie very still for a few minutes, but Ben’s always so good-natured about it that he can't help but tease, and sure enough he just laughs and slings an arm over Henry’s waist. 

“Glad you enjoyed it,” he murmurs. Henry can't even deny that he had, as apprehensive as he’d been in the beginning, and he hums in agreement and tilts his head back to press his mouth against Ben’s jaw. Ben meets him in the middle, catching him in a languid kiss, and just when Henry’s about to say something (because he can't help himself, really, he gets caught up in the moment, and it just seems appropriate to say something now, like _this was really nice_ , or _you’re right, we should do things like this more often_ , or even _I think I’d like to stay here forever, do you mind?_ ), Ben whispers, “Your Superman-proof furniture line is going to be a big hit until the beds start breaking.”

Henry groans and buries his face in Ben’s neck. “I regret this. I regret you.”

“No you don't,” Ben sighs, calling his bluff. He presses another kiss to the top of Henry's head and squeezes him gently, his arm a comfortable weight over Henry’s body, a protective barrier that Henry doesn't think he could slip out of if he wanted to —

And he doesn't want to, not even a little.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank the twitter crew (Chelle, Sarah, and Ashley) for their endless enabling at all hours of the day (and night). also, huge thanks as always to [brodinsons](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined), who actually gave me the inspiration for this fic without even realizing it.


End file.
